We talk about water and the way it gets you to want to dine, the fish, those are food
The fishes, those are learning to breathe air, giant lips that gulp at each bulge of dark water, having no sense of death—
Not yet, they float out on their sides
  past an inlet our eyes past a ship, then back to our own business.  The planet is melting, this holds no fear for some
But in others changed their souls
   A puzzle of crossed words
punishment and broken promises
   this earth, little by little
Since the beginning

I hope I do not fade away
like the stars at dawn.
A footprint
left on the desert sand;
a dream that is lost to memory.

I arrived at six for an early start,
only to find that a cloud had coughed,

spat, or birthed a fog onto the lawn,
midwifed by polearms of corn

under silver doctor's eyes
of cooling car. Beer tabs snicked

away as a giant cheerful beast
slouched and stalked us

with candy heart and whetted tooth,
snapping at pipe smoke enemies,

patrolling our hands with hope.
Lives roll along, we all find:

men and women having a hard go
of it in hornet houses, or exes

who tent us with doubt even now.
The fog has burned away and the lawless

calligraphy of insects weaves and wreathes
the rising air into which exits are engraved.

Time enough to slide the highways
back into the busy hours

of porcelain hearts - easily chipped
but good enough still for daily use.